


nothing's as sweet as my name on your lips

by the_one_that_fell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, bellamy has a lot of feelings about scones okay?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:13:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4248873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The woman frowned. "Are you okay? 'Cause you look like you might cry." </p>
<p>Bellamy sighed. "No, I'm fine, I just…really wanted…that scone."</p>
<p>Or, the one in which Clarke keeps embarrassing herself on the phone with the sexy-voiced IT guy, and Bellamy throws a hissy fit over a scone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing's as sweet as my name on your lips

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on tumblr: bellarke AU "there’s an overnight IT person at school who always answers the phone when i call about a problem with my computer and i totally have a crush on their voice and their exasperation and ALSO the bakery down the street is always running out of my fave scones and the adorable person behind the counter can’t hide their amusement and i think it’s super rude but also super cute" maybe??? *-*

“ _IT, how can I help you_?”

The voice on the other end of the caught Clarke off-guard. She’d seen those Best Buy “Geek Squad” commercials, and the tech geeks in those did _not_ have voices like this, all deep and rough and-

“ _Hello? Anyone there?_ ”

“Oh! Yes! Sorry,” Clarke shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. “My computer screen turned blue. How do I make it…stop?”

“ _Have you tried turning it off and back on again?”_ There was a hint of boredom in the voice, like he’d answered the same question all night. Considering what time it was, he was probably the only person working in IT, and probably had been dealing with drunks who’d spilled drinks on their computers and hyper-caffeinated students who had deleted major projects they desperately needed back. Clarke was glad she fell into neither of those categories; she just really wanted to watch Netflix.

“Uh, no, let me try that.” Clarke held down the power button of her shitty, six-year-old laptop. The screen went dark, and she hit the button again. Slowly, groaning and whirring, the Dinosaur came back to life, no blue screen in sight.

“Oh, that, uh- that worked. Um, thanks!” Clarke did her best to smile prettily, as if the man on the other end of the phone could hear it.

The deep, gravelly voice let out a groan – _mind OUT of the gutter, Clarke_ , she thought to herself – and said, “Glad to be of service.”

Blushing, Clarke thanked the man again, and he hung up her, abruptly and a little rudely. Clarke set down her phone and pulled up Netflix, clicking on the show she’d been binge watching all week. But after an episode she was forced to give up, because there was no way she could concentrate when _his_ voice kept echoing in her head.

Needless to say, it was a restless night for Clarke Griffin.

* * *

 

Grounders, the only non-Dunkin’-Donuts coffee shop on campus, was absolutely horrible. It was crowded, it was packed with underclassmen, and it was _loud_. The two stoners behind the counter – Goggles Boy and Blue Polo Shirt – loved to blast their weird, upbeat, pseudo-folk music. Bellamy couldn’t stand the sound of jaunty banjos or the sight of so many teenagers, but _goddamn_ they had the best chocolate-cinnamon scones on the planet.

“Your obsession is a little unhealthy, Bell,” his sister would always tell him. “Miller and I are considering an intervention.”

“Well, you and Miller can fuck off to fuckville, O,” he usually retorted. “Those scones are magical.”

It was a problem. But damn, Bellamy had two jobs and was working towards his Masters – he fucking deserved a magical scone once in a while.

It was a cold and rainy day when he stormed into Grounders, soaking wet and starving. A few freshmen girls eyed him appreciatively, but mostly the manager just glared at him for dripping water all over the floor. It had been a stressful, awful day, and all Bellamy wanted was a scone and a break. He approached the counter, shaking out his hair, and nearly barked at the woman, “Two chocolate-cinnamon scones, please.”

The woman, who clearly did not appreciate his gruffness, shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry, sir, we just ran out.” She had to shout out the words to be heard above the twangy, metallic voices of Goggles and Polo’s music.

“What.” It wasn’t a question. Bellamy watched as his life crumbled before him, dissolving into the rain-soaked ground.

“We have other flavors still, orange-cranberry and pumpkin spice and-”

“No.” Bellamy shook his head slowly. The music spiked in volume, so he cleared his throat before raising his voice. “No, no, those aren’t the same…”

The woman frowned. “Are you okay? ‘Cause you look like you might cry.”

_Shit_. “No, I’m fine, I just…really wanted…that scone.”

There was a moment where the woman was silent, then she burst into laughter, nose scrunched up in the most _adorable_ way. Bellamy huffed, not really in the mood to be laughed at. He wanted that scone, goddammit.

“I’m- ha! I’m sorry!” The woman shouted through her laughter. “That’s just- oh my god! Ha-ha! Your face was- was just so _sad_!”

Bellamy glared at the woman, arms crossed across his chest. He realized he must look a little petulant, but he didn’t see what was so fucking funny.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, and stalked from the coffee shop. He could hear the woman shouting after him, probably an apology, but he was grumpy and tired and hungry and in no mood to be laughed at.

He hoped, for his sake, that Octavia never heard of today’s incident. She wasn’t kidding about that intervention, and Miller was a goddamn enabler when it came to O’s more ridiculous ventures. Bellamy sighed, then headed in the direction of the library, where the IT office was situated. At least he could count on Finn and Roma to leave behind donuts after their shifts.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke groaned. She’d just gotten off a phone call with her mother that had – once again – ended in an argument, and now her computer was frozen.

“Awesome,” she muttered, wiping at the angry tears that pooled in the corners of her eyes. “Perfect.”

Itching to punch a wall, Clarke kept her hands occupied by dialing IT, taking deep, calming breaths. She had an exam tomorrow and all her notes were electronic. This was _not_ happening.

“ _IT, how can I help you?_ ”

Oh, wow.

It was _him_.

“Uh, yeah, my computer’s frozen. I can’t get the mouse to move or anything, and control-alt-delete isn’t working.”

The voice yawned, a deep, rumbling sound, then asked, “ _Have you tried turning it off and turning it back on again?_ ”

Oh. Right.

“Uh, no, let me try that.” In the background, she could hear the voice sigh in irritation. She turned off the computer, then back on. As it slowly whirred to life, she asked, “So, how are you doing?”

“ _Fine_.”

“Uh. That’s good.”

The man chuckled a little, probably involuntarily, then asked, “ _How are_ you _doing_?”

“Um, fine, too- Oh! It’s fixed!”

She could have sworn she heard the man roll his eyes. “ _Not a tech genius, huh?”_

“Hey!” Clarke frowned. “Just because I don’t work in IT doesn’t mean I’m not smart!”

“ _That’s not what I-”_

“You IT guys think that just because I don’t know computers and I’m not a _man_ then that means I’m just incompetent, but I’m not! I’m pre-med, buddy, I’ll be operating on your dorito-clogged heart one day so you better get off your high horse, got it?” She moved to hang up, paused, and shouted, “Thank you for your help!” before punching the END CALL button.

Stupid, sexy-voiced tech nerd trying to bring her down. As if she didn’t already have her mother to do that.

* * *

 

It took Bellamy a week after his hissy-fit before he crawled back to Grounders. Surely the same woman wouldn’t be working, and even if she was, she probably dealt with assholes all the time. He really, _really_ wanted a scone.

The music in Grounders today was some weird bagpipe music, accompanied by electric guitars and wailing voices. The screeching of the pipes was so grating that it actually hurt his eardrums. Most of the underclassmen sitting at the booths and tables seemed unfazed, but a few older patrons looked disgruntled. Goggles and Polo were dancing along behind the counter, arms linked in some parody of a jig.

The same woman _was_ working the register today, and as Bellamy approached the counter, her face flushed and her eyes widened in – was that fright? Concern? He hoped she wasn’t going to call the cops on him.

“I’m sorry, sir-” she said, her face now neutral and controlled, as if she were facing down an army. Bellamy felt the back of his neck heat up.

“No, look, I’m sorry,” he shouted as the bagpipes sped up. “I was kind of a dick last time.”

The woman smiled, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “You really wanted that scone, huh?”

Bellamy chuckled. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Well, Wells will be glad to know you approve of his baking,” the woman said, smiling. She raised her voice as a louder, angrier song started playing. “Most people come here just for the extra-strong espressos.”

“Really?” Bellamy leaned on the counter, giving her a charming grin. “I thought they came here for the charming ambience.”

As if in response, the bagpipes screeched horrifically, and Goggles picked Polo up, shrieking, and began spinning in circles. The woman sighed, rubbing at her temples.

“I’m sorry for laughing at you,” she said. “You know, the other day. You seemed really upset, I shouldn’t have found it funny.”

Bellamy shrugged. “I was pretty pathetic that day, I’m sure it was amusing to watch.”

“And I’m sorry-” She winced as Goggles let out a whoop and began juggling mugs, winking at a group of giggling girls. “Jasper! Put those down before you break something!”

Goggles – _Jasper_ – pouted and set the cups down. Polo laughed in his face, then quickly got back to work, smiling sheepishly at the woman.

She sighed. “As I was saying, I’m sorry to tell you that we’re out of chocolate-cinnamon scones. Again.”

Bellamy felt his head drop to the counter before he could stop himself. It had taken him a week to work up the courage to return to Grounders, and now, all that mental prep-work, all for naught-

“ _Fuck_ ,” he said, just loud enough to be heard over the wails of the pipes. To her credit, the woman did not laugh this time, and instead patted his shoulder consolingly.

“We have a new scone this month, chocolate and Cheyenne pepper, it’s really good…” Bellamy peeked up, and he could see that she was biting down on her bottom lip to stifle her amusement. “Or maybe a cinnamon mocha? That would be similar.”

With a long, shuddering sigh, Bellamy stood up, not meeting the woman’s eyes. In a quiet voice, almost lost under the bagpipes and electric guitars, he said, “…I’ll try one of those new scones.”

The woman beamed at him, and quickly grabbed the pastry from the display case. Bellamy hid a smile when he saw her deliberately choose the biggest one.

“Here you go, that’ll be $1.50,” she said, tucking the scone into a paper bag. Bellamy handed over the money and took his consolation prize wearily.

“Have a good day,” she said, and the sincerity in her voice was overwhelming. Warmth pooled in Bellamy’s gut, somewhere under his ribcage, and spread throughout his body.

“Thanks, uh…” For the first time, he glanced down at her nametag. _Clarke_. “Thanks, Clarke. You, too.”

She beamed at him and waved as he exited. As Bellamy stepped outside, ears ringing and clutching a second-rate scone, he found himself happier than he’d been in a long time. He was so happy, in fact, that he whistled all the way to work, and didn’t even notice that his scone wasn’t nearly as good as it could have been.

* * *

 

“ _IT, how may I help you?_ ”

Shit. It was that voice again tonight. Clarke froze; the chances of him remembering her voice were slim to none, but she couldn’t help the blush that spread across her cheeks. She’d sort of freaked out on him last time; it had been an ugly moment of weakness, and she regretted it wholeheartedly.

“Um, hi.” She cleared her throat and fiddled with the hem of her pajama pants. “My, uh, my laptop’s touchpad is on the fritz. The cursor short of jerks around, doesn’t stay where it’s supposed to. Makes doing work really difficult.”

“ _Oh, it’s…it’s you_.” Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit. “ _Look, about last time-”_

“I totally freaked out at you and it was completely unwarranted,” Clarke cut in quickly. “I’m sorry, I’d just had a fight with my mom, you didn’t deserve it-”

“ _No, no, it’s fine, I shouldn’t have made that joke. It wasn’t funny, and probably sounded really condescending. Octavia always tells me- my sister- she always tells me that everything I say sounds emo or condescending. I’m sorry_.”

“Still didn’t give me the right to yell at you.” Clarke felt a small smile creep across her face. “You have a sister?”

The voice chuckled, sending a spark down Clarke’s spine. “ _Yeah, she’s a couple years younger. Total pain in my ass._ ” She could hear him grinning, could sense the fondness he really felt for his sister. “ _So, uh, your touchpad_.”

“Yeah. That. Right.” Clarke sighed, staring dejectedly at her laptop. “This thing’s a piece of crap.”

The man chuckled. “ _Have you tried turn_ -”

“Yes I turned it off and on again.” Clarke rolled her hands. “I may be stupid at computers, but I do learn eventually.”

“ _Well, obviously it’s because you’ve had such a great teacher._ ”

Clarke outright laughed at that. “Oh, of course. Be sure to thank Finn for me, he’s taught me _so_ much.” She didn’t even know if Finn still worked at IT, but the joke had just slipped out, like the thought of him _didn’t_ hurt.

“You know Finn?” There was an odd edge to his voice.

“Mhmm,” Clarke hummed, running a hand through her hair. “If by ‘know’ you mean ‘had an affair with him because I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,’ then yes, I know Finn.”

The man gasped, a soft and low sound. “You’re the Disney Princess Hussy?”

Clarke groaned, burying her face in one hand. All she wanted was to listen to Mister Sexy-Voice tell her how to fix her laptop, not relive one of the worst embarrassments of her life. “Yup, that’s me.”

The man cleared his throat, and she feel the awkward tension over the phone line. “You, uh, I mean, that’s what Raven called you, back when it happened, I didn’t mean to imply-”

Clarke snorted. “Yeah, Raven wasn’t the most understanding at first. But we’ve made peace.” She paused, then asked, “Did she really call me the Disney Princess Hussy?” It was certainly creative, she’d give Raven that.

“Uh, yeah.” The man sounded like he was trying not to laugh. “If it makes you feel better, she calls me worse on a daily basis. My favorite is Bel-LAME-y.”

Clarke let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s pretty funny. So your name’s Bellamy?”

“The one and only,” he said, voice lowering. The base of Clarke’s spine tingled, and she flexed her fingers in frustration. “Have you tried installing new driver software?”

“…What?” Clarke glanced at the clock. It was getting late, and if Bellamy was going to talk geek at her she needed to be awake for it.

“Maybe you should bring your laptop into the office sometime this week,” he said. “We’re open 24-hours, on the fifth floor of the library. I work late evenings and nights, if you want to come yell at me to my face.”

Clarke groaned again, but laughed. “I may take you up on that. But it may just be time to replace the Dinosaur.”

“After a while the repairs just aren’t worth the time and money.” He paused, then said, “Well, if that’s all I can do for you tonight, I guess I’ll say goodnight. See you sometime this week?”

“It’s a date,” slips out before she can stop it. Instead of lingering on it, though, Clarke quickly adds, “Goodnight, Bellamy,” before hanging up.

She was going to meet him. In person. Because if she could manage to embarrass herself _over the phone_ , then clearly a face-to-face encounter would go over real well.

Maybe he was ugly. It would be easier if the rest of him wasn’t as sexy as his voice.

* * *

 

Bellamy knew she was going to show up tonight, the woman on the phone, so he stopped by Grounders to distract himself. The woman on the phone had the sexiest voice, even when she was yelling at him, and he got excited just thinking about her. He got excited thinking about Clarke, too, but in a more embarrassed, flustered way. But right now he could use a scone and a Clarke smile, so he waited in line, fiddling with his jacket zipper.

It was surprisingly quiet in Grounders that day. Bellamy could see a frowning man in a flour caked apron chastising Jasper and Polo – _Monty_ , he’d learned that the boy’s name was Monty – and Bellamy wondered if he’s the one in charge of making the magical scones that Bellamy had become addicted to. The speakers were playing soft piano music, and Jasper looks thoroughly put out about it.

The woman in front of him paid, and then he was face to face with Clarke, who smiled as he approached. “Hey, let me guess-”

“I’ll have a scone, plea-”

They both froze, eyes widening at the same time. He’d never really listened to Clarke’s voice, not when they were screaming over the music to hear each other. But now, now that he could hear- it couldn’t be.

“Bellamy?” She asked quietly. “You’re scone guy?”

He nodded, slowly. “And you’re the Disney Princess Hussy?”

She cracked a smile at that. “All this time, you’ve been coming in here-”

“Yelling at you, like you yelled at me.” He propped his elbows on the counter, leaning in towards Clarke. “I guess we’re even.”

She leaned in a bit closer as well, then sprang back. “Wait! Hold on!” In a flash, she dashed into the back, and returned holding a paper bag. Wordlessly, she handed it to Bellamy.

He peered in and chuckled. “A chocolate-cinnamon scone.”

“The last one,” she said, a little shyly. “In case you came in.”

He wasn’t sure what came over him in that moment, but something inside Bellamy propelled him forward, gently pressing his lips to hers. It was brief, chaste, but he pulled back quickly, horrified at himself.

Clarke laughed. “If that’s the thanks I get for saving you a scone, I think I’ll be doing it a whole lot more often.”

Bellamy grinned down at his feet. “What time do you get off? I believe you and I have a date with a Dinosaur.” He fished out a dollar-fifty, sliding it over to Clarke. She waved it away.

“On the house. And I don’t know, that date sounds kind of boring…” She leaned in again, so that their foreheads were nearly touching.

“I’ll order some Indian take-out, turn out the lights. Computer screens make for great mood lighting,” Bellamy said, lips inching towards Clarke’s ear. “Could be very romantic.”

“Well, if you insist.” She pecked him softly on the cheek, then pulled back, as if just now remembering she was at work. He heard Jasper wolf-whistle and, Monty subsequently shushing him. “I’ll see you at eight.”

“It’s a date, Scone Guy.”

“Later, Princess.” Bellamy smiled, then headed out of the coffee shop, humming to himself. The evening was balmy, he had a date with a pretty girl, and he was finally, _finally_ going to get his scone. Things were looking up.


End file.
